


Enjoy the Silence

by rochelleechidna



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Astronomy, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Blow Jobs, Body Language, Body Worship, Couch Cuddles, Crack Treated Seriously, Denial of Feelings, Domestic, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Flirting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Language Barrier, M/M, Magical Accidents, Massage, Masturbation, Mental Link, Miscommunication, Motorcycles, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, No Dialogue, Nonverbal Communication, Oral Sex, Quiet Sex, Roommates, Sexual Tension, Shower Sex, Thiefshipping, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25284796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rochelleechidna/pseuds/rochelleechidna
Summary: Constant verbal battles were all that Bakura and Malik knew existed between them. But when they awoke one morning robbed of their voices, a new dynamic would emerge - causing their actions to convey secret desires better than words ever could.
Relationships: Thiefshipping - Relationship, Yami Bakura/Malik Ishtar
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41





	1. Happy Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ****exhales loudly and curses self for writing a fic that's less than 10% dialogue**** After many angsty-ish fics, I figured I should write a soft, silly, self-indulgent story for one of my favourite ships, and now y'all get to suffer through the results with me - I apologise for nothing haha Though, this chapter's probably the least sexy thing I've ever written because... "plot." Fear not, there's thief!porn ahead in the next bits. The overall idea is either brilliant or terrible, but who _doesn't_ like magic-induced thiefshipping?

“Remind me again why I’m helping you when it’s hot as balls outside?”

“Consider it another act towards your so-called ‘redemption.’ Plus, once these boxes are unloaded, we can keep working on you finally reading hieratic after, oh, _3,000 years._ ”

“It’s not _my_ fault that I didn’t have anyone around back then to teach me. Or anyone worth talking to.”

“Well, we’re in the 21st century, Bakura, so no excuses. And as your benevolent teacher, need I remind you that now you’ve got _me_ to talk to as much as your heart desires?”

“Because that’s _exactly_ what I looked forward to the most when I was spat back into this plane of existence. Gods, if you could hear yourself. The ego is one thing, but that annoying voice of yours—”

“Excuse me? I’m not the one who literally stole mine.”

“I don’t sound anything like Ryou.”

“ _Hm._ Guess you’re right. You _do_ sound more like an old man compared to his lovely, dulcet tones.”

“For the love of Ra, do you ever shut up?”

“For you, never. In fact, why don’t we invite your host over and put this to the test? It’s been awhile since he’s been to visit us anyway.”

“He doesn’t need to be dragged into this.”

“Too late. Already sent two emojis telling him to stop by tomorrow morning.”

“Are you a teenage girl? Who sends fucking emojis at your age?”

“Someone who’s shit at basic Japanese characters, thanks for the reminder. But who knows? Maybe Ryou can be of more use with organising these scrolls than your sluggish ass.”

“Bite me, Ishtar.”

“Face, throat or dick? Your choice. Besides, you couldn’t even _begin_ to take me in that stolen body.”

“It’s been a year. So far as real estate on this body’s concerned, it’s completely mine.”

“Yeah, whatever. You may look pretty courtesy of Ryou, but you’re still just as slow on the uptake as ever. No wonder you can’t even get past the alphabet.”

“ _Hmpf._ Some ‘benevolent’ teacher you are. You know what? Finish moving these stupid boxes yourself. I bet the bastards who wrote these fucking scrolls wouldn’t last a _day_ in this stupid modern world.”

“At least those ‘bastards’ knew how to read! Bakura, get back—”

But the former spirit had already stormed off to his room down the hall before Malik could finish speaking.

* * *

Truth be told, this wasn’t the _worst_ argument they’d ever had – after the last several months of living together, there were a plethora of options that could vie for the top spot. But Bakura couldn’t _not_ acknowledge how weary he’d grown of their constant banter day in and day out. Not that the companionship wasn’t nice after millennia spent alone inside an inanimate object. But why that companionship had to be with _this guy_ – this infuriating, attractive, passionate guy… it was like one last joke that the Gods had seen fit to play on him.

Since he’d been unceremoniously returned from the shadows a year ago in a carbon copy of Ryou’s body, Bakura had had to become reoriented with life in his own form very fast. Thanks to his former host, he’d enrolled in a few courses at Domino University, picked up a remote low-tier job at KaibaCorp and tried to live alone, with strangers, with Ryou – before finally giving into his gut instinct to move in with his former partner-in-crime who just _happened_ to now be in the area on a permanent basis. Bakura chuckled at the memory of learning, soon after they’d first reconnected, that Malik of all people held a job as part of Domino Museum’s Egyptian exhibits – hence the scrolls from earlier.

But Bakura’s face grew morose the longer his thoughts drifted to his insufferably perfect roommate. The same strange sensation from Battle City still plagued the pit of his stomach throughout those first few rekindled conversations with Malik – and hadn’t quite gone away since. And if Bakura was a paranoid man, he’d swear he could read a similar reaction cross the Egyptian’s face as they spent time with each other in the subsequent days that they agreed to room together – with Ryou’s gentle assistance, of course. It was like old times – back to barely staving off strangling one another while Bakura fought against the heat that would rise to his cheeks each time Malik got even an inch into his personal space.

In other words, it was the best and worst punishment for which Bakura could have ever hoped.

He mused on this and more as he turned on his fan full-blast, plopped himself across his bed – the only item in his room of any value, given his propensity towards sleep – and pulled out a wrinkled, aged paper from under his sweaty shirt. Despite his promises to Ryou and Malik that he’d set aside his thieving tendencies, Bakura couldn’t help giving in to old habits sometimes – especially when bitchy Ishtars saw fit to annoy or criticise him.

So what if he couldn’t easily pick up on this writing system – _his people’s_ writing system, though it felt less and less like it each day? So what if Malik – fucking polyglot, and hypocrite, that he was – showed off his verbal prowess and left Bakura behind in the dust? So what if his roommate got just a bit too close for comfort whenever they would go over a new lesson – bare shoulders brushing as they leaned in close, the faintest touch of fingers guiding along the papers, the way Bakura would obsessively stare at Malik’s mouth to form the right pronunciations _and only for that reason and not any other, no matter what people like Ryou thought…_

Well, Bakura contemplated as he eyed the document in his hands and rejected the heat forming in his abdomen at the thought of the blond’s lips… two could play at that game. The former spirit wasn’t an idiot, and he could very well teach himself if Malik insisted on being an ass each time they tried to sit down for a lesson. To be fair, today barely counted as a lesson – it was more a manipulation on the part of the blond to get Bakura to move boxes of scrolls as part of _his_ museum job, and on one of the hottest days of the summer at that.

And if Bakura was honest, the fact that he’d been forced to do manual labour struck him far less than the fact that Malik had insinuated that he was lazy. In defiance, the former spirit shook his head. He’d prove that gorgeous asshole – the unrelenting thought causing conflict within his head – wrong.

Yet as Bakura looked over the hieratic on the scroll and struggled to sound out the text – half-unsure if he was saying it right, half-unconvinced that they were even proper words – he grew more and more frustrated. With one final growl – as he spoke what he assumed was a banal text about wiping the Pharaoh’s ass or some such drivel – he balled up the papyrus and threw it across the room.

The earlier workout with the boxes, the unbearable heat, the feeling of being dumb, _the fact that in all this time Malik hadn’t once knocked on his door to check up on him…_ it was all too much. The sun had barely started to set, but Bakura already felt his eyes lower from exhaustion. He stripped himself of all but his boxers, assumed his usual fetal position atop his duvet and muttered to himself about pesky, beautiful Egyptians before he fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

“Gods damn lazy… good-for-nothing… argumentative—”

_Sexy…_

“Fuck!”

The Egyptian threw himself onto the floor and dropped the final box just within the entryway to his apartment – Bakura paid rent _mostly_ on time, but like hell Malik was about to give the handsome bastard the satisfaction of thinking this place was anyone’s but his.

Wait… _handsome bastard?_ Fuck again.

Malik rubbed his head as if to purge the thought and sat up from the last couple hours of work. He grimaced when he saw how his fall atop the tiles had caused a few bruises to form on his exposed legs. But after driving to and from the Domino Museum in the awful heat and carrying several heavy boxes up and down their building’s stairs, what were a few more aches… especially after the _emotional_ pains caused by the ostensibly endless arguments with certain bratty ex-spirits.

Certain bratty ex-spirits who could be very easily shut up by Malik slamming them both against a wall and silencing any words with an eager tongue down—

 _Fuuuuuck_ for the third time in less than five minutes.

It was the heat. It had to be the heat. How else could Malik explain why his mind drifted back to the sight of his former partner-in-crime – teeth bared and body sweaty – when moving the boxes earlier. Or the thought of Bakura stepping closer and closer with each level of intensity to their arguments until he could feel the heat radiate off of him. Or the idea of the “reformed” thief pinned down on his bed – exposed and willing to accept whatever the Egyptian wanted to do to him. Or—

To be fair, ever since they’d started living together several months ago – hell, since _before_ Ryou had told him that Bakura had come back from the shadows – Malik found his thoughts constantly wandering to his roommate and the unspoken, unusual bond that had formed between them during their initial partnership. Back then he could have attributed the rapid increase in his heartbeat and the magnetic pull towards the spirit as nothing more than teenage hormones still maladjusted to a brave new world.

But Battle City had been nearly five years ago. Now Malik was in his early 20’s, and had had plenty of time to catch up on all the social conventions of being an attractive, sexually-voracious young man. Yet if multiple blind dates, failed one-night-stands and attempted efforts to mingle at bars in both Egypt and Japan had proved anything, it was that Malik was _never_ one for social conventions. Try as he might, every time he got close to someone interesting or pretty, they were never _quite_ interesting or pretty enough when compared to the white-haired spirit he’d known for all of a few days. And certainly not _challenging_ enough, never his equal – not until Bakura had strode back into his life a year ago like nothing had changed.

Gods help Malik if he knew why he was so desperate to room with the intolerable thief-turned-spirit-turned-man when Ryou had first suggested that they live together. And he _especially_ gawked at how readily he’d offered to help Bakura learn his – _their_ – culture’s text when he found him reading over his shoulder one day. The former spirit still looked and acted the same as ever, if their constant arguments were anything to go by – with each lesson in hieratic, the tension from years before seemed to rear its head more and more within Malik’s mind. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, he sensed it was a similar tension playing out within Bakura’s mind, too…

But he _had_ to be mistaken. It had been almost a year and neither of them had said anything to the other. Malik assumed that any hope of reciprocated feelings was mere wishful thinking on his part. And so he lifted himself off the ground, assessed the mass of boxes in the living room – failing to notice that one prominent scroll was missing – and undressed from his dirty clothes as he walked down the hall towards his room, past the former spirit’s.

He stood in front of Bakura’s door and made to knock. A not-very-small part of him wanted to check in on his roommate – maybe be the bigger man and apologise for the words exchanged earlier, or at least see if he wanted some dinner. But as Malik – obsessive with his looks to a fault – glanced down at his state of undress and observed the fresh marks of labour and felt at his sticky skin, he thought better of the idea and proceeded to his own room. Bakura was a grown-up and could take care of himself. And if today’s argument had accomplished anything, it had only made clearer that his roommate saw their living arrangement as a mere necessity to appease Ryou – while Malik saw it as the most fun, frustrating experience of his life.

“Idiot…” The Egyptian wasn’t sure if the whispered word was directed at Bakura or himself as he left the shower thirty minutes later, dragged silk sheets over his clean body and immediately dreamt of soft, white hair and a sultry, unmistakable voice.

* * *

Maybe it was the fact that he’d gone to bed so early the previous night. Maybe it was the too-familiar nightmares plaguing his dreams. Maybe it was because the long hours of sleep had given him a rest that left him with the usual massive headache.

But much to his chagrin and in spite of his pain, the first thought on Bakura’s mind when he awoke the following morning was how much he wanted to see Malik and just… _talk._

The idea was so foreign for them that Bakura wondered momentarily if he'd really woken up. Yet as he pulled on sweatpants and stepped out into the rest of the apartment and looked at the multiple boxes strewn across nearly every surface, it was clear what had transpired after his tantrum the previous afternoon. The idea of Malik lifting the rest of the scrolls up the long flight of stairs by himself… sure, it made Bakura cackle to imagine the prissy ass dirtying his flawless hands – but it was too-soon replaced by a sense of remorse that he hadn't assisted more.

And Gods help him… the former spirit felt the damn need to actually _apologise._

No sooner did the realisation come over him than he felt a warm ache cover his flesh, and instinctively turned to find Malik exiting his own room in a loose t-shirt. The two men stared at one another in a rare moment of silence – eyes not-so-subtly-roaming over their exposed, just-woken bodies – before they spoke at the same time.

Except no words left their mouths.

Bakura grasped at his throat and Malik felt at his ears. Unbeknownst to both, a surge of panic washed through them as the Egyptian tried to talk again – Bakura could just barely make out him mouthing the words **I can’t hear! Fuck, I’ve gone deaf!**

Rolling his eyes at the unneeded panic, the former spirit rushed forward and slammed the nearest door shut – making Malik jump – and near-strained his own vocal chords, to no avail.

**What the fuck is going on?**

Malik shook his head as if unable to understand. Frustrated, Bakura grabbed his roommate's hand – enjoying the warmth a little too much and feeling a sudden rush of heat course towards his groin at the least opportune moment – and led him into the kitchen. The former spirit found a pen and a pad of paper and – with what little Japanese he could remember from his time in Ryou’s body – wrote Why neither of us can talking?

But once again, Malik tilted his head in confusion. He instinctively snatched the pen and paper and wrote out What took our voices? in hieratic – this time, it was Bakura who stared blankly at the words.

The sudden realisation that they couldn’t speak or communicate with each other in any effective way dawned on them at the same time – just as a firm knock sounded from the front door. Malik and Bakura both looked in its direction at the same time and mouthed the same word – **Ryou.**

They made a mad dash for the entrance. Malik was slightly quicker, and so was the first to “greet” their friend as he stepped inside and glanced around at the unusual quietness and the mess of boxes.

“Am I too late? Your ‘text’ said you needed help to get back at this one.” Ryou gestured towards Bakura.

Feeling regret at his anger from the day before, Malik hastily tried to explain – before remembering he couldn’t. Ryou looked to Bakura for help when the Egyptian’s gesticulations only grew wilder.

“Sorry, is this some practical joke I’m just not getting?”

Bakura breathed in deep, grabbed the pad of paper back and wrote Awake in morning with talking gone and we no comprehend. He handed it to Ryou, who only seemed more puzzled.

“How have you kept your job with such bad grammar?” Bakura made to argue that his job involved far more numbers than letters – but quickly found the task pointless with no voice. Ever the problem-solver, Ryou paced between the two men. “Okay, this probably isn't a spontaneous case of laryngitis. And a bad meal wouldn’t— What are these scrolls, by the way? _Please_ don’t tell me they’re what I think they are.”

Malik snatched the pen and paper from Bakura and – standing too close for comfort next to his roommate – wrote down You think this is magic? But when he showed Ryou, he made a similar look to Bakura from earlier and shook his head.

“I was only in Egypt for a couple years. I’m sorry, Malik, but I never learned how to properly read any of your country’s texts.”

The added hinderance of the _three_ of them being unable to communicate with each other made Malik’s and Bakura’s breath hitch simultaneously. As if defeated, the Egyptian threw himself down onto the one uncluttered space on the couch – and only _then_ did he look inside the box to his left and slant his eyes at Bakura.

**What… did… you… do?**

Now _that_ was clear. But in typical Bakura fashion – and in spite of the weird feeling of anger he suddenly felt inhabiting his chest – he held his hands up as if unclear what _he_ might have done.

“Bakura.” Ryou stepped forward and offered a gentle hand onto the former spirit’s back. “I can’t stay here all day, so…”

Bakura went back to his room and silently cursed himself for giving in to his ex-landlord so easily – but how _couldn’t_ he with everything Ryou had done for him in the last year? He returned with the stolen scroll in hand – which was immediately grabbed by Malik, whose eyes went wide as he read it.

**Of all the fucking scrolls to steal, you stole this fucking one, you fucking dumb fuck?!**

The two Japanese men didn’t need Malik to speak slower to get the gist of what he meant.

“I take it that’s a spell then? And, let me guess, when spoken incorrectly it can backfire?” Malik nodded solemnly to both queries and Ryou turned to Bakura. “Why did you take this one?”

More scribbles – more Ryou straining to comprehend Bakura’s broken Japanese.

“I’m sure Malik didn’t mean you were _actually_ dumb or lazy… right?” Malik just lowered his head to Bakura and raised a condescending eyebrow – Ryou quickly let the matter go and sighed in exasperation. “Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. Malik, you’re going to e-mail the Museum and tell them you’ve come down with something. If my dad gives you trouble, I’ll deal with him. In the meantime, give me that scroll and I’ll see if I can figure out a way to reverse this spell in the next few days. Bakura, I’ll tell our boss that you’re indisposed for now. And both of you… _please_ just stay here and don’t do anything stupid. Again.”

Bakura hastily wrote once more on the paper But how we speak you not present?

“I can’t just stay here all day translating arguments for the both of you.” Malik and Bakura rolled their eyes at the blatant truth while Ryou took the scroll and made his way to the front door. “Maybe try some apps? See if there’s one that can translate text messages? You’ll have to find _some_ way of communicating.”

Malik felt a shudder go through his body at the suggestion and looked over at Bakura – now frozen in discomfort. For all the low-key tech work Bakura could do remotely for his job, for all intents and purposes he really was an old man when it came to more advanced technology. Before his roommate could protest, the Egyptian nodded his head and mouthed **I’ll take care of it** before waving Ryou out of the apartment.

As he locked the door, Malik turned sharply and stared daggers in Bakura’s direction with a very clear mouthing of **Bakura… you… fucking… fool.** The blond rushed forward – but just as the former spirit moved out of the way, Malik tripped and smacked into his roommate anyway. They both toppled to the floor, agitating bruises from the previous day.

Malik accidentally straddled atop Bakura – tan hands around pale wrists, faces closer than expected, bodies flush together as they each silently moaned in pain and _something else._ Yet they were less struck by their compromised position and individual agony… and more so by how it wasn’t just their own individual sensations that they felt – to a small but significant degree, they were experiencing _each other’s._

It suddenly made sense – the spontaneous stirrings they’d had at the same time that morning, the surges of panic and anger and frustration and pleasure…

As the realisation came over them that maybe _this_ was the way that they’d be able to know what the other wanted to communicate for now, neither moved from the warmth coursing through their abdomens. And when they finally pulled away, the first thoughts running through their heads were how this couldn’t be happening and whatever they were feeling was a fluke and _Ryou better find a solution damn soon._

But after Malik and Bakura retreated to their own rooms, the final thought they inadvertently shared – with similar amusement – was that if this spell had literally made them both open books… it was going to be a _very_ interesting few days.


	2. Bad Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I can write slow burns when compelled to, but... damn it, I couldn't wait any longer for these two to finally make a move haha Also, I'm positive that there are inconsistencies with the whole writing vs speaking thing between Bakura, Malik and Ryou insofar as why they can / can't understand one another - blame it on me treating this story as half-experiment fic, half-crack fic. Anyway, enjoy our favourite emotionally-repressed dorks as they reveal their feelings... _in mime._ Not really, but you get the gist :D

The next couple of days passed both quicker and slower than Bakura expected. If he was honest, he didn’t particularly see losing his ability to speak as a hinderance – he’d spent the majority of his youth alone in the deserts of Egypt, and then trapped inside the Millennium Ring with a demon that roared more than conversed. If anything, his current predicament was almost like a return to his old “normal” – so what were a few more days spent in utter silence? He’d gotten through this once, he’d get through it again.

But at the same time, Bakura couldn’t help but feel each excruciating minute drag on the longer that he had to spend time cooped up in the same space as Malik – who very clearly wasn’t handling the situation well at all.

It didn’t take a genius to know that the Egyptian was much more of a talker than his roommate. While Bakura was a doer, Malik was most definitely the asshole who – in a former life – would explain his evil schemes in intricate detail just to show that it was _him_ who’d thought them up. So to have his voice missing – the main attribute besides the Rod that he’d used in his youth to manipulate, control and intimidate – just made the blond more irate than usual. Cell phones had been thrown across the room in frustration at their poor translation skills, doors had been slammed shut to mask the faint non-sobs of despair and now the TV was almost always turned on just to fill the silent void with some semblance of speech.

Malik no do good. Asshole loves speak. Karma. Both us.

“It’s not karma, Bakura. Don’t _you_ be an ass.” Ryou stopped by each morning to check in on them and provide any details he might have about the status of the spell being reversed. It was slow progress so far, but Bakura still rewarded him with a cup of mediocre tea and his trademark bad grammar, much to Ryou’s chagrin.

“It’s no one’s fault. Not even yours. Neither of you deserved this, and I’m doing my best to help.” That much was true. It seemed that Bakura's former host was spending all his free time not taken up by classes and work to untangle the spell. Not only that, but Ryou had also graciously organised the remaining boxes so that they were stacked neatly in rows across a nearby wall – out of the way and out of mind for the time being.

Bakura sighed in silence as he looked over the once-again clean apartment and scribbled another sentence onto his pad of paper: You do too much. Ryou balked at the sentiment – and the fact that it was actually legible _and_ a complete phrase.

“You’d do the same for me.” Ryou smiled that comforting smile, and Bakura’s speech-deprived world somehow seemed a little less dark.

Though, it was short-lived as a disheveled Malik stormed by their kitchen table, grabbed an IPA from the fridge and started downing it before he could even retreat back to his room.

But as he rounded the corner, his foot hit against the dividing wall and he let loose a silent shout – matched in intensity by Bakura feeling his pain. The two stared at each other and then Ryou, who blinked twice in surprise and just drank more of his now-cold tea. Ever-perceptive, he didn’t need them to use words to explain their little _situation._

“So… how long has _this_ been a thing? A by-product of the spell, I take it?”

Malik turned heel and limped forward in defeat to join the duo. He plopped his bottle on the table and ran both hands through his unkempt hair. Bakura had to resist the urge to join his fingers against Malik’s and offer some semblance of comfort – before remembering a second later that the thought had also made its way into the Egyptian’s mind. He raised his now-flushed face to Bakura’s and grabbed the nearest cell phone – he couldn’t care less whose – and typed into the keypad to translate.

Stop doing it! Don’t care to be in your skull!

The two white-haired men appeared perplexed at the automated voice that _mostly_ got the words right.

“Are you sure you don’t want him inside of _yours_?” Ryou teased with an uncharacteristic coyness that made both roommates’ eyes go wide. It was painfully obvious what was going on – what _had been_ going on longer than this strange magical incident. But in spite of the uncomfortable shared warmth running down their spines at the implication, the two men ignored the elephant in the room. Malik typed again – more enthusiastically this time.

Don’t want him inside me ever!

Bakura couldn’t help but hit the table and laugh “out loud” at the mistranslation – what he half-hoped _wasn’t_ a mistranslation. Ryou held back a chuckle as the blond threw down the cell phone and punched the former spirit on the arm. For someone who otherwise maintained control, it was almost too amusing to watch the ever-collected Egyptian utterly lose his shit at a mechanical slip of the tongue – so Bakura stuck his own out as Malik's assault inadvertently hurt him back.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to drink and text?” Ryou offered a gentle squeeze onto the Egyptian’s shoulder to cease his "attack." Bakura felt a sudden peace enter his own body at the gesture and couldn’t help but stare at how – despite the wild look in his eyes, the wrinkled clothes, the tangled hair and the fact that he hadn’t showered in two days – Malik in that moment somehow looked as lovely as ever. More so than usual, if that was even possible.

And for the first time since all this craziness had started… neither man protested at the sentiments they mutually felt.

“Anyway, I should get going. Ancient spells to unravel and all.” Ryou excused himself quicker than expected and made a bee-line for the front door. “Glad to see you two are the same as usual. Actions really do speak louder than words, eh?”

Before they could even question what he meant, Ryou was out of the apartment – leaving Malik and Bakura sat at the table in utter, awkward silence. They avoided each other’s gazes, but couldn’t discount the heat that coursed through their systems and the magnetic pull of their already-close fingers that inched towards each other as the tension built more and more to a breaking point before—

_bzzzzzzzzzz_

The loud white noise of the TV turning on via a timer made them both jump. They moved their hands away like they’d just been shocked by a jolt of electricity and rose up at the same time to walk off in opposite directions.

Yet as Bakura settled himself on the couch and Malik rushed back to his room, the unmistakable warm feeling that simultaneously filled both their souls became impossible to ignore. Without using words – even without the recent emotional link that they shared – they’d slowly become aware of what the other had hidden deep within his soul, what long-held secrets were now unavoidable to each other.

So, they both thought… it was just a matter of knowing what to _do_ with this new knowledge.

* * *

Since losing his voice and gaining a not-unwelcome insight into Bakura’s emotions, Malik found he now spent more and more time locked away in his room. He could still hear the TV’s blare down the hall, and music from his home country filled the minutes with mindless pop music while his fan whirred above on full-blast. Altogether, it provided a nice background of white noise.

But Malik would be lying to himself if he thought that all that could replace what he really desired. He missed the ability to talk like normal – how much power he wielded when he could use his voice to make his mark or put fools in their place. And even though he’d never outright say it – not that he could at the moment anyway – he _especially_ hated not hearing his roommate’s voice attempt to fight back against his occasional oversteps of power.

Lyrics in a song or words from a TV were nice… but there was just no replacement for that gruff, sardonic, almost childish voice of Bakura’s. That voice which had the ability to both irk Malik to no end and yet simultaneously turn him on like nothing else. That voice which he was sure would be filled with obscenities and cries of pleasure if the blond was only given the chance to have his way. And considering their shared bond, that reality might not be as far off as Malik had thought all this time. If what Bakura felt was similar to what he felt, maybe, _just maybe_ —

Something wasn’t right.

Malik sat upright in his bed and felt at his face and chest – a dull pain throbbed underneath his shirt, and a strange wetness ran down his cheeks. Tears? Sure, he may have let loose his emotions a few days ago when the spell had first occurred, but today…

To the Egyptian’s amazement, it was already getting dark outside – the long summer days just flew by with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. The TV still sounded far off within the apartment, and Malik had a sneaking suspicion what he might find if he ventured beyond his bedroom door. He’d heard noises from Bakura in the middle of the night before, but not once had he ever thought to investigate or offer any comfort. Yet as the aches in his body intensified and more tears fell from his eyes of their own accord, Malik finally felt compelled to head out into the living room – if only to make the agony within himself cease.

The apartment was bathed in near-darkness, with various time-sensitive nightlights scattered across each wall. A warm sunset peeked through drawn blinds, and the flashes from the TV bathed a certain white-haired figure – lying face-down on the couch – in artificial light.

But as Malik stepped closer, he found himself less on-edge about the decreased brightness in the room, and more concerned with how Bakura was trembling in his sleep. If his roommate could make a sound, the blond was sure it would be akin to the whimpers and groans of pain that he sometimes heard through their thin walls.

Bakura never brought up the fact that he still suffered from nightmares. To be fair, Malik also did his best to avoid the topic with regards to his own sleepless nights. Before now, neither felt it would do much good to dwell on that which couldn’t be helped – and their individual pride kept them from discussing the visions in their sleep of burned bodies and white-hot gold and violent fires and too-sharp knives and blood loss and cursed carvings.

Yet it mattered little to Malik right now _what_ exactly Bakura was plagued by – or even that whatever it was was affecting him, too. All he could think to do was kneel down to meet the former spirit’s screwed-up face and _very tentatively_ rub his fingers through soft, white hair. It was a trick Rishid had done many a night when they’d first left the tombs, and it never failed to stave off any bad thoughts that ran through his overactive mind.

Now, watching the same tactic utilised on his roommate… Malik felt an immediate shift in his body as Bakura relaxed into the touch. Subconsciously, the blond moved his hand further down the pale form – to his long neck and broad shoulders, past his forearms and down his covered spine.

And as the calm filled both their systems, Malik wondered just how far he could take this. After all, warm fingers across one’s scalp wasn’t the _only_ method he knew to relax.

Careful to not wake him up, the Egyptian climbed atop Bakura and settled himself across the small of his back – dangerously close to sitting upon his firm ass. Malik shook the thought from his mind – praying that Bakura wouldn’t register it in his sleep – and began to trail his slender fingers down the curves of his roommate’s backside. This was the closest he’d ever physically been to the former spirit – the closest he’d ever allowed himself to get, for fear he’d lose all inhibitions otherwise – and the sensation of cool skin through the shirt below shocked Malik to his core.

After a few moments of feeling his way around the still-twitching body, the blond held his breath and dared to pull the fabric up ever-so-slowly. Inches of beautiful, unblemished pale skin greeted Malik underneath, until the shirt was raised all the way to Bakura’s neck. The Egyptian let go of a silent exhale, pressed his always-warm hands into the cool flesh and gradually massaged each muscle with a renewed vigour.

He’d expected the effect to be quick – for the sensation of heat to ease Bakura's mind and withdraw his thoughts from whatever disrupted his sleep and caused him so much internal pain.

What Malik _hadn’t_ expected was for the warmth spreading through Bakura’s body to reach his own in such strong waves of pleasure. The blond's own back immediately grew hotter and hotter the longer he massaged into his roommate – as if each carving on his skin was on fire in the most delectable way possible.

Had he a voice, Malik was positive his tight-lipped mewls and moans would fill the room. But as he continued to knead the flesh beneath him and grew bolder with caressing every available inch, the Egyptian grew hard against his will – _and_ Bakura’s backside. He moved further back to finally straddle the former spirit’s ass and laid himself across the exposed back – shocking himself as his whole core felt connected to the body below. If his hands had felt incredible touching his roommate’s skin, their bodies pressed so close together was Gods damn magic, spell or not.

Forgetting their mental link for the moment, Malik unsuccessfully willed himself not to move against the hot skin that _he’d_ warmed – and _fuck_ did it feel fantastic. He breathed in the faint scent of Bakura’s remarkably fresh-smelling hair and moved his hands to grasp at graceful pale fingers and tried not to look into the slanted crimson eyes underneath him and—

Bakura was staring right at him.

Fuck.

Malik couldn’t move – couldn’t even think to do so. He was frozen in place, torn between fear and desire – and didn’t even take note when Bakura flipped himself over so that the two of them were looking at each other eye-to-eye, both wet from long-forgotten tears.

**You were… I felt… In your sleep…**

Even if the room had been full of light, the Egyptian knew Bakura wouldn’t have been able to make out his nonsense sentences. Yet the words Ryou had spoken earlier about actions and words now came into play as the white-haired man below – still in a state of half-sleep, which now affected Malik – laid his arms across his roommate’s back with great care and pulled him in closer. Their eyes locked for a brief moment and both men felt the other wonder – internally scream in desire – if _this_ was the moment to—

**Stay?**

No other words needed to be exchanged as the two drowsy men settled across one another's bodies on the couch and caressed stray hair and continued to stroke exposed skin.

And if they fell asleep a few minutes later inexplicably wrapped up in each other’s arms and with the faintest brush of lips touching unmarked skin in the middle of the night, they did so because it was the first taste of freedom that they’d ever allowed themselves to feel with one another. It was safe, it was right – and at least for now, it was _theirs._

* * *

The next morning, Bakura awoke sore, drained of emotional energy and with a certain blond missing atop his chest. Had he dreamed that his roommate had come to him in the middle of the night and successfully chased away his nightmares? Was it all in his imagination – a deep well of desire he’d never intended anyone to see – that the Egyptian had stayed by his side through the evening? Did Bakura remember rightly that Malik had pressed against his body in a not-unpleasant way beforehand – making them both grow hot and bothered with each miniscule movement?

As he sat up and stretched his body out, Bakura wondered if it all had just been an enjoyable dream – until Malik strolled in with a mug in each hand. The blond had his hair tied back and still looked rather unkempt, but his face brightened when he saw his roommate look more awake than ever – especially for ten o’clock in the morning.

Suddenly shy, a tan arm extended out to offer one mug of room-temperature tea to Bakura – just the way he liked it. Their fingers touched for the smallest of moments, but it was enough to draw their attention to each other’s reddening faces. His left hand now free, Malik gestured to his head, and then his roommate, in concern. Bakura nodded in answer to show that he was recovered from the previous night, and drank from the mug very slowly – failing to hide his blush.

Feeling bolder, Malik sat in a chair opposite the couch and wrapped his arms around his body, shivering for effect. The former spirit understood the question – but without a voice, he couldn’t even begin to explain the mechanics of how thousands of years trapped inside cold metal left a mark that would never go away… no matter how warm certain gorgeous blonds were with their heated skin pressed against his.

So, Bakura just shrugged his shoulders and stood up too-quickly from the couch. He glanced at the time – aware that Ryou would arrive at any minute – and made to pull his shirt off over his head so he could look even a little presentable before his arrival… all before remembering that the emotions of what he’d just thought had been transmitted loud and clear to Malik… and that said _gorgeous blond_ was now staring in rapt attention at the show inadvertently put on before him.

Bakura turned to see a raised eyebrow and a familiar smirk cross the Egyptian’s face, but didn’t back down from following through with his state of undress – like he’d _totally_ planned it all along. In reaction, Malik reached up and let his hair flow free, running his fingers invitingly through the strands.

The lovely half-memory of those same fingers stroking his back and pressing into his muscles as he slept rose in Bakura’s mind – and he found himself pulled closer to where his roommate sat. Their minds suddenly locked in mutual understanding, and Malik spread his legs just enough to allow the former spirit room to sit. They reached out their hands to steady one another as Bakura lowered himself down and as the heat coursed through their bodies before—

_tap, tap, tap_

Their reverie was broken in an instant by the obvious appearance of Ryou at the front door. Internally cursing their bad luck at the same time, the two men looked at one another and chuckled at their similar thoughts on the matter.

Bakura now half-sat in Malik’s lap and half-leaned against the chair’s armrests. He awkwardly bowed his head and gestured to the continued knocks – neither wanting nor able to move, given his close proximity to everything he’d wanted and denied himself for so long. The Egyptian’s warm hands rested on Bakura’s hips. A firm pat indicated that he should get going, but it was obvious even without their mental link that it wasn’t what Malik _truly_ wanted.

One tan hand moved up behind his roommate’s exposed back like the night before. The memory once again ran through their minds, and Malik nearly drew Bakura into his lap when he felt the sensation of heat running along their spines – and sensed rather than saw how hard it had made both of them to be so close and yet not close enough. In that moment, self-control was the furthest thing from Malik’s mind, and he pushed against the pale skin to finally bring Bakura down to his level when—

_TAP, TAP, TAP_

_“Are you two okay?”_

Bakura _did_ stand up – much to his and Malik’s disappointment – when the knocks became somewhat panicked and Ryou’s voice rang clear through the door. The former spirit pointed at his roommate, the door and then himself, holding up three fingers to indicate how much time he’d need to get changed. Malik shook his head – he didn’t need words to show his annoyance at being the one made to answer.

But as Bakura started to walk away he felt a sudden shift in himself – one of unease, hesitancy and passion all at once. He couldn’t process what it all meant until he felt himself abruptly pulled back so that he fell into Malik’s lap – for the quickest, longest and _only_ kiss of his many lives. Against his will, Bakura smiled into the embrace when he felt Malik's mind race at the experience apparently being a first for him, too.

Neither moved their mouths from the initial contact or dared to push further, but they each closed their eyes and melted into the shared feel of their lips and bodies pressed together after so much build-up. The bangs on their door, the screeches of the chair beneath them, the concerned yelling outside… none of it mattered now. In that moment, Malik swore he could _feel_ Bakura hum in appreciation – and his suspicions were confirmed as a newfound peace entered their minds at the close contact.

They pulled away at the same time – cognizant of their surroundings and the now frantic pounding that threatened to put a hole through their door. With one final deliberate look at one another, they rose from the chair and went their separate ways – Bakura to change clothes and Malik to put Ryou out of his worried misery.

“I was out here for almost five minutes! Please don’t tell me you both lost your hearing, too.”

Malik waved away his concern and smiled – though, less from Ryou’s adorable anxiety and more from the sight of Bakura as he made a show of throwing his clothes past his bedroom door as an obvious tease, for the Egyptian's eyes only.

“Malik, you look… better. That’s good! Especially since I think I’ve figured out how to fix this spell now—”

When Bakura finally joined them in the kitchen, both men were aware of what Ryou said and nodded as he went on. But as he got further into his explanations, neither Malik nor Bakura could resist turning their attention to each other and throwing the most subtle of visual cues – a lick of lips here, an innocuous hand gesture there – across the table where they sat.

If Ryou was right and this spell would soon be a distant memory… they might as well have some fun.


	3. Blinding Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this written just to see if I could write dialogue-free sex? No, in that I was curious how soft thieves in love might play out if they didn't rely on banter... but also yes, in that I'm always game to try new ways to write familiar scenes, especially where smut is concerned. This is also somehow the third fic I've written with these two where sexy times happen in a bathroom - make of that what you will haha This story is really just me faffing about and having fun, so I hope it's a nice little escape for everyone :)

It had always amused Bakura to no end how he and Malik so easily went to extremes at the slightest provocation. Whether it was stabbing an arm or letting loose a hidden alter, it could never be said that the two of them did things in small measures. It was a trait that Bakura had especially admired in the blond since they’d first met – and through the time spent plotting the last bits of his revenge, in the shadows and then thrust back into the world of the living, not a day had gone by where he hadn’t dwelled on the level of passion and intensity held within those lavender eyes.

Lavender eyes that seemed to challenge the former spirit at this very moment to _get on with it_ – if fluttered lashes and sultry half-lids were anything to go by. Bakura couldn’t really blame the Egyptian – who was now pinned against the kitchen counter – for his impatience. After what were apparently years of repression, denial and frustration, there was now a genuine need between them to make up for lost time.

Ryou’s visit had lasted longer than Bakura would have liked, and the whole while he’d quite literally stayed his tongue out of a show of respect. It was the least he could do for his former host, especially since it seemed that an end was within reach for their – _his_ – mishap. The exact details to reverse the spell escaped Bakura’s mind _for some reason_ – as Malik pulled their torsos together and ran tan fingers down the front of his slightly-open shirt, sending a jolt of fire to their hearts. He remembered that Ryou had mentioned something about herbs or weeds or reversed incantations or—

All other thoughts left Bakura’s head as Malik’s mind invaded his own when their lips ghosted in feather-light touches. The blond may have been the one cornered, but only because he’d _allowed_ his roommate to do so – giving him the advantage to bring their bodies as close together as possible, hands gripped tight around the former spirit’s ass in an uncontested display of possession.

For his part, Bakura lidded his own eyes and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Malik’s ear – before leaning in to lick around the bare lobe. A pulse stronger than any before coursed through both their bodies as one tan hand moved from the former spirit’s backside to grasp at his pale neck – directing Bakura’s head forward to award more attention to the exposed areas along the Egyptian’s face.

As Bakura's tongue ran along the sensitive flesh between neck and ear and then shoulder and collarbone, he swore his mind filled in the now-familiar silence with what he imagined Malik sounded like. Not whining or petulant like his voice often went when annoyed or in the throes of an argument – but rather low and unrestrained and utterly addictive, hitching when teeth grazed _just like that_ or when a tongue brushed against the skin _right there._ Pink lips trailed back up to capture dark red – before Bakura found himself suddenly pushed away and backed up against the fridge nearby.

Their shared emotions reached a fever-pitch as Malik grabbed his roommate’s collar and crashed their mouths together in a sloppy kiss once, twice – before backing off with a knowing smirk. Bakura didn’t need them to share a connection to know the blond’s game – their whole relationship since Battle City had been predicated on games, after all, so it only stood to reason that this pleasant turn of events wouldn’t be any different.

As he spun away and gave a clear view of his own ass sashaying down the hall, the Egyptian ran his fingers along his chest and hips as a clear invitation for Bakura to follow – before closing the bedroom door right in his face. Stunned for all of two seconds, the former spirit returned Malik’s earlier smirk as he felt the blond fall down to the floor against his door, blushing and smiling like an idiot as his hands continued to explore his now-outstretched body.

Careful not to waste any time, Bakura rushed into his own bedroom – not caring one way or another if _his_ door was closed – and tore down his pants before falling against the bed. Unlike his roommate, the former spirit wasn’t one for patience or drawing out the moment, no matter how sublime. Pale fingers soon wrapped around his engorged shaft as he felt Malik do the same.

Within a few moments, they were fully in sync as their hands stroked up and down their cocks in slow movements – sending vibrations of energy across the apartment as they built off one another’s pleasure. A swipe of his thumb against his beading head sent a shiver down Bakura’s spine – increased tenfold as he felt Malik spit into his hands and reach between his legs and _oh Gods_ the friction from his tan fingers simultaneously jerking himself off and teasing the outside of his hole was too much.

Now it felt like invisible fingers touched Bakura’s most private areas alongside his own digits. He couldn’t help but close his eyes and return the favour by switching hands and allowing himself to get a small taste of the precum that had trickled down his erection. Even though the blond couldn’t see it, he sure as hell must have sensed it – the unseen caresses against Bakura’s ass now felt as if they were genuinely inside his body, and he cried out in silence for the sensation to be replaced by Malik’s cock pounding into him without mercy.

At _that_ thought, the pace and intensity suddenly increased on both their ends. Now it was just a race to the finish line – what they’d held off from sharing with each other for years. By now, the only sounds in Bakura’s bedroom were the uncomfortable squishes and slaps of his hand pumping faster and faster along his now-wet dick – but the former spirit was sure that if he still had his voice, it would be hoarse right now from the cries that he’d been releasing nonstop for the last fifteen minutes. With one final noiseless scream, he emptied out onto his stomach and chest – and smiled contentedly when he sensed that Malik had done the same.

Bakura fell back against his pillow and breathed heavy – no sound escaped, but that just meant he could focus in on the whir of the fan above, the TV turning on in the other room, the faint patter of Malik’s feet as he stood up on presumably wobbly legs and traipsed into his bathroom to clean off.

The door was still open to Bakura’s bedroom, and the invitation was clear if his roommate wanted to _come._ But as the former spirit felt Malik shake his head at the bad pun, both men knew it would never be that easy. With them, the anticipation was half the fun… and they hadn’t even gone on a proper date yet.

* * *

For all their excitement earlier in the day, Malik didn’t see Bakura again until late afternoon. Whether it was the change in their relationship, the much-needed mutual release or just an overall feeling of giddiness that the nightmare of losing his voice would soon be over, the Egyptian was in good spirits for the first time all week – and he intended to spend his day with the now-second love of his life.

His motorcycle had been sat in their apartment’s garage for weeks without any attention. An old Domino Museum van was the mode of transportation Malik had used to retrieve the boxes of scrolls a few days before, and for whatever reason he just hadn’t gotten around to taking his beloved bike for a spin like in the old days. But fuck it – he was still technically off work and felt fucking fantastic for the first time in forever. So, with a quick change of clothes into something he wouldn’t mind getting dirty – in spite of the fact that he still hadn’t showered or looked in any way to his standards of “presentable” – Malik raced downstairs to lavish attention onto Lady Death.

In these moments when the Egyptian felt control slip from his grasp, this was his way to regain some semblance of it back – tuning-up and polishing and checking gauges and doing whatever he could to ensure that his bike looked twice as good as he knew she could. Malik himself, meanwhile, grew shabbier and filthier with each minute as grime collected on his otherwise perfect skin and got tangled in his clothes and hair.

The hours flew by without Malik even needing to glance at the time. He would occasionally get an impression of Bakura’s mental state as he worked – it seemed the blond’s productivity had helped the former spirit to pick a paintbrush and sketchpad back up for the first time in several months. But as the sun began to set, a sense of his roommate’s boredom washed over Malik, just as he heard footfalls echo down the corridor. Suddenly self-conscious again, the Egyptian turned around, rose up from his position along Lady Death’s tires and caught sight of Bakura – who, were he not mute already, looked to have been rendered absolutely speechless.

Malik furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment, before receiving an influx of emotions from the former spirit – who apparently _very much_ dug the grungy, disheveled and flustered look that the Egyptian currently sported. Bakura stepped in closer, and his eyes seemed to roam in intense want across the splotches of dirt along Malik’s forehead and the faint blush that made its way down his body and the tight clothes that accentuated his muscles in _just the right ways._ Before he could even register what was happening, the blond found himself trapped against his motorcycle in a series of desperate, fervent kisses.

There was barely time for Malik to think about how in Ra’s name the way he looked could do _anything_ to turn Bakura on – until his roommate pulled back and caressed a thumb against his dirtied cheek and ran his fingers through his messy hair and gave a look of pure adoration for allowing a glimpse at the Egyptian in a moment where he wasn’t, and didn’t have to be, perfect.

At any other time, Malik might have rolled his eyes at the sentiment of inner beauty or whatever such nonsense he’d seen on television. But as the blond stared into Bakura’s crimson eyes and saw no lies hidden in his sincere adoration, he couldn’t care less. If this stupid spell had accomplished anything, it had allowed Malik to feel free for once without him even realising – and he wasn’t about to let his obsessive tendencies about how he looked bother him now if it turned Bakura on _this_ much.

If not for his lack of voice, the blond would have moaned in absolute joy then and there as his roommate leaned back up to lock their lips together again – when an idea struck his mind, and Bakura’s, at the same time.

The Egyptian leaned against his bike and into Bakura’s body, gesturing at the seat with a tilt of his head. The former spirit raised an eyebrow in understanding. He didn’t have to be told twice as Malik handed him a spare helmet and adjusted his hands around his waist as they sped off into the streets of Domino at full-speed – completely and joyfully ignoring Ryou’s plea from days before not to leave their apartment.

* * *

Bakura had only ever ridden a few times on the metal death trap that Malik seemed to adore so much. But something just seemed different when it was nighttime and the lights of the city rushed by them and his roommate controlled where they rode and _Gods_ it felt nice for his cold skin to press into his roommate's warm back, even in spite of the summer night’s heat.

The days had started getting longer only a couple of months ago, so the faint glimmer of stars shined above as Bakura overcame his initial trepidation and looked beyond the blond hair that whipped by his face. With one eye on the road, Malik glanced back when he felt Bakura’s hands grip tighter around his waist, and followed his gaze to the darkening sky. A sublime happiness filled both their minds at once, and the Egyptian smiled as he whizzed in-between traffic towards a specific goal.

Suddenly, the former spirit felt the bike pivot as they leapt onto an exit and then a highway. Bakura nearly questioned if his roommate planned on giving them both heart attacks – before he sensed what Malik’s new plan was. With a small lean forward, Bakura nuzzled against the sweat-soaked shirt and pressed a few quick kisses into the blond’s back. It took all of a millisecond to feel Malik blush at the gesture and rev his bike harder, which pleased both men to no end as they drove away from the city and nearer to…

The open field was only about fifteen kilometres away from Domino, but for Bakura and Malik – who never left the lively, overcrowded metropolis – they might as well have been on a different planet. The lights from the city were still visible ways away, but out here it was much easier to get a good view of all of the shimmering night sky above. With a swift kick on his bike’s stand, Malik discarded both their helmets, helped Bakura off the still-wobbly bike – much to the former spirit’s slight embarrassment at needing _any_ sort of help – and tentatively joined their hands to walk forward into the green grass ahead.

It was a sight unlike anything either had seen before – or rather, the _circumstances_ were so very different than what they’d ever experienced. Bakura could recall far too many nights spent alone in the Egyptian desert where he would use the stars as his guides and the cover of night as his ally to strike ignorant victims when least expected. It was cooler and safer to work in the evenings back then, and he’d grown used to the comfort of darkness from an early age. He'd always seen the moon and constellations above as his only friends – and now he turned to his very real more-than-friend to mentally share the names he’d conjured up for them long ago.

Likewise – and thousands of years later in a similar desert landscape – Malik’s one true pleasure while living in the depths of his underground prison was the scant opportunities to gaze up through the Ishtar clan’s well during clear nights. Despite his fear of the dark, Isis often reminded him of how as a child he would try to capture the stars within the well’s water – only to become frustrated when they would inevitably disappear by morning. But more than anything, the blond remembered how he would dream of someday going to the surface to get a better view of the strange lights in the sky that came and went with each impermanent day.

It had been the same sky back then _and_ 3,000 years ago. And the realisation that even before they’d met they’d been connected by this one aspiration – this one comfort – drew Bakura and Malik closer to each other as they laid down against the grass. Sands and scarabs and snakes were all that they’d known in their youths. Now, lying next to each other as crickets chirped and the wind blew calmly by their ears and they sat together in near-silence as memories of their similar pasts comingled in their minds… it was the most peace either had felt in all their combined lifetimes.

As they stared up into the infinite beyond together with the emotional history that they unwittingly shared, a noticeable shift came over both men – one that even _they_ couldn’t quite discern with their mental link. They turned their attentions away from the stars and moon, and instead towards each other – and in that moment, they felt something deep and almost unnamable enter their psyches. Eyes widened, Malik gripped firmer onto their interlocked fingers and dared to shift closer to his roommate on the dewy grass. Tears formed in both their eyes against their will, but not from despairing nightmares like the previous night – this time, it was pure symbiosis, pure harmony, pure…

The exact word didn’t have to be thought for either of them to know it within their hearts. Drawing their bodies together at the same time against the prickly green, both men embraced and leaned their foreheads together. Suddenly-unsure mouths sought each other out in the warm dark, tongues dared to peek through near-bruised lips to caress against one another, hearts beat together in a synchronous, gradually quickening rhythm. Before either knew it, Malik was atop Bakura without ever breaking their hold – sudden erections aligned below, followed by silent gasps and moans as they kissed without abandon under the moonlight.

They stopped after what might have been a few minutes or a few hours – given the near-eternal nature of their surroundings, it was hard to say. But as they brushed their noses together and caught their breath and stole a few final pecks from one another, the one thing they _didn’t_ need to do was ask the question of what the other wanted. Never relinquishing hold of their hands the entire time, Bakura leaned into Malik one last time – thinking how the view in front of him was somehow infinitely better than the one in the night sky – and, with a pat on his roommate’s hip, drew them both up to get back on the motorcycle.

It wasn’t the “date” either had expected, but it was the one they’d seemed to need. And as Malik drove them home at a leisurely pace for once – basking in the swell of emotions that filled both their chests – it became abundantly clear to both men that the night was far from over.

* * *

They wasted no time in fumbling their way back up the long flight of stairs when they finally reached their apartment. They’d had little to eat throughout the day, but were so intent on tasting _each other_ that their irritable stomachs took second precedence to the intense desire in their souls. Rummaging for his keys as Bakura swiped his blond hair aside to leave purple marks on his neck, Malik pinned his roommate to the wall and kicked their front door shut as soon as they were inside.

This was just one of many fantasies that the Egyptian had imagined playing out in his wildest dreams – which, now that he literally thought about them, were on full display for Bakura to feel for himself. The former spirit drew back from their frenzied kisses and snaked a hand under the back of the thin top that Malik wore, the one place his hands hadn’t yet fully explored – and the main thought that clouded the blond’s mind at that moment.

Malik’s face and mind seemed to be at war as to whether he should pull away or allow this final hurdle to come crashing down. Sensing his roommate’s unease, Bakura spent less than a second to think before he drew the Egyptian close and – their lips locked in a perfect, choreographed duet – guided them both to Malik's bedroom, and then the master bathroom. The artificial light overhead made them silently wince against each other’s mouths, and Malik blinked hard at the harsh intrusion – before his eyes accustomed instead to the sight of Bakura as he stripped his shirt off of his svelte body.

But instead of finding the act a turn-on – though, to be fair, the blond couldn’t deny he got immensely harder at what he imagined would come next – Malik grew somber as he saw where Bakura’s fingers trailed down to. As the former spirit had said days before, this body was _his_ – yet it still bore the wretched scars he’d inflicted upon his unwitting host years ago. Five deep marks along his chest and one long gash across his left arm marked otherwise flawless skin. He reached for Malik’s hand to trace the wounds for himself – as pale fingers reached back around to finally _gently_ grace the carvings along his roommate’s back.

Both just stared for several minutes as if in a daze, reveling in the intimacy of sharing scars both visible and unseen. In all their years, neither had been so open with anyone. Yet this familiarity – once they reflected on it – could be traced back to when they near-inhabited the same body during Battle City and had been of one mind and one goal. And in that moment, they ached to be one once more.

In a single swift movement, Malik drew back to throw his boots and socks off, and then his grimy shirt, and then his khakis with no boxers underneath – leaving himself on full display. For a split second, the Egyptian half-expected to feel a familiar sensation of objectification – similar to that from his family during his painful youth, or from random passersby as he’d matured and grown into his looks. And as he sensed Bakura’s mind suddenly go blank, Malik’s worst fears seemed to come to fruition as he closed his eyes and heard his roommate remove the rest of his clothes and step in closer and—

The fingers on his back and chest were… no, they couldn’t be… Bakura hadn’t even learned…

But sure enough, as Malik opened his eyes and felt his roommate’s mind open to him again, the deliberate strokes across his heart – and the wings on his back – became clear as Bakura both spelled and mouthed their shared, ancient language.

**Beautiful… so beautiful…**

The wording and text weren’t perfect, but the sentiment couldn’t have been stronger. Malik didn’t know whether to smirk from successfully teaching Bakura at least a couple words in hieratic or to cry from _those_ being the words he’d chosen to remember. Instead, he wrapped one arm around the former spirit’s slim waist and – his free hand reaching behind him for a knob – dragged them both under a welcome onslaught of warm water.

The pain of the past few days slowly melted away as they kissed and nipped and caressed under the shower. Yet for all the heat Bakura felt between him and Malik, he still couldn’t seem to shake off his cool exterior – exacerbated by the scars he’d shown moments before, which only cemented the wrongs of his past and the “monster” he used to be.

So it was both a surprise and yet no surprise at all when Malik – sensing the former spirit’s brief moment of weakness – slowly trailed his soft lips down Bakura’s jaw… to his chin… to his chest… to his stomach… before he knelt completely before his obvious, flushed arousal with a questioning look and an outstretched tongue against the pink tip. The former spirit panted in silence at the brazen display – before he carded his fingers through Malik’s wet hair and reached down with his free hand to meet tan digits.

They knew that there was no going back from here. But the unspoken, implicit trust that had existed between them for longer than they’d even known was the only permission needed for what was about to happen – what both men _wanted_ to happen. They’d been broken for most of their lives by forces beyond their control… but at least for tonight, they could let their actions make them whole again.


	4. Feeling Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've reached the end of this crazy ride, I can definitely see why this concept hadn't been done before haha It's for sure more fun to see these two dorks arguing themselves silly and throwing insults at each other with words rather than actions. _But_ this was also a fun attempt at trying something new, so I can't complain too much - especially since (spoilers!) this is by far the least angsty fic that I've planned for the rest of the year. Thanks to all who've shown support for this fic - it's so very appreciated :)

Just a few days ago, Malik had made a jibe about possibly _biting_ Bakura’s dick off – yet now the idea couldn’t be further from his mind. And really, he reasoned… how _hard_ could this be?

The internal double entendre sent a smirk to both men’s faces as the Egyptian gazed upwards with lust-filled lavender eyes. He’d never been in such a compromised, defenseless position before – on his knees in apparent worship of his roommate’s body, mentally preparing himself to take the not-at-all-unappealing erection into his open mouth.

Yet there were no feelings of degradation or coercion as the blond felt their intertwined fingers tighten around each other. Instead, there was an implicit trust as Bakura gently stroked Malik’s scalp and leaned against the wall as he panted in anticipation and sent a mix of frenzied but comforting thoughts between their linked minds.

Before he could second-guess, Malik licked a stripe up from balls to cock and slowly swirled his tongue around the throbbing head. He felt Bakura tense from the jolt of pleasure, and kept his eyes locked on the gorgeous face up above to gauge his reactions. As much as he wanted to close his eyes and get lost in the moment, the blond intended to keep track of every little touch that would send his roommate – his newfound lover – into overdrive. _Especially_ considering how Bakura became flushed across his face and chest and opened his mouth in a silent “o” when Malik finally leaned forward to inch the twitching member into his mouth.

The taste of salty precum went down his throat with ease, and the Egyptian immediately wanted more. With his free hand, he lightly trailed teasing fingers up along the inside of Bakura’s thighs – just out of reach of where the former spirit _wanted_ him to touch. The blond bobbed his head gradually faster – surprised at how close his nose rubbed against the light hairs on his roommate’s groin. Forgoing what he knew their shared pleasure-driven minds desired most, Malik stroked his thumb against Bakura’s hand and let go to instead caress the five indentations on the pale chest above.

The sight of Bakura lost in ecstasy as his usually-cool skin warmed up with each suck, stroke and sense of love almost drove Malik to come then and there. But he held off from touching himself – filled with a renewed determination to make the man he’d cared about for so long feel good, wanted, _loved_ for the first time. His fingers trailed and teased along with each lick against the cock in his mouth – helped by Bakura subconsciously guiding his head back and forth – and Malik didn’t need the emotional connection to tell that his roommate was close.

The blond focused all his attention on Bakura – watched him squirm against the bathroom tiles, watched the water pour down his beautiful face wracked with pleasure, watched him mouth what must have been nonsense words and moans before suddenly—

**Malik!**

At the same time as his roommate’s final silent cry of his name, Malik felt a stream of hot liquid suddenly pour down his throat – making the Egyptian even wetter between the legs as a small stream of come trailed out of his own tan member. The blond pulled back to catch his breath from the mini-orgasm – smiling dumbstruck at how their mental link _literally came_ with that little perk – and pumped Bakura’s shaft as the last few drops of come flowed from his worked-over tip.

As the former spirit’s mind cleared and he caught his own breath, Malik – still hard as a rock – lifted himself up to support Bakura against the bathroom wall. He went against his basest instinct and held off from kissing his roommate silly. But Bakura didn’t even let the idea become a consideration as he crashed their lips together and pushed his way into Malik’s mouth – shuddering as he tasted his come mixed with the blond’s saliva.

The shower had long-ago turned cool, and as they continued to kiss and breathe against each other’s lips they gradually shivered at the cascading ice water. They drew back to exit and haphazardly grabbed towels from a nearby stand – less focused on drying off and more intent on wrapping each other up in the warm cotton so that their bodies laid flush and they could continue to touch and feel each other without abandon.

Malik tried not to think about his raging arousal as he grabbed Bakura’s hand – the same hand that he had held as he’d sucked the former spirit off – and noticed it was the one with a scar across the palm which led to the gash across his upper arm. With a gentleness that surprised even himself, the Egyptian graced his lips and tongue across each digit, each sensitive scar tissue, each inch of unblemished skin until he’d made his way up Bakura’s arm and neck to finally capture his lips again.

The blond sensed a sudden mix of emotions from his roommate, and pulled back to hold his face and gauge his reaction. If Malik didn’t know any better, he’d swear his roommate was somehow turned on even more by the tenderness – evidenced by an unseen hand that suddenly pawed at the Egyptian's needy cock, making him open his mouth in a gasp. Bakura’s free hand rested against the blond’s rapidly beating heart and – like earlier – drew what Malik knew to be crude hieratic on his damp chest and mouthed words that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

Malik nervously chuckled once again at what scant words Bakura had bothered to remember after several months of lessons. But the blond also smiled at the apparent mismatch of messages. Pale hands roughly spelled out I want you to sleep with me. His mouth said **I want you to fuck me.** But his mind – his mind had all but screamed out to Malik… _I want you to love me._

Without a second thought, the blond scooped Bakura up bridal style – pale legs and arms splayed across his tan, muscular body. They stole kiss after kiss as Malik walked them from the bathroom into the master bedroom – fully intent on making good on his lover’s most obvious and heretofore unspoken desire.

* * *

As Bakura was laid across the bed that had to have been twice the size of his own, he nestled into the sheets and stretched his body out to feel every inch of smooth silk along his skin. He stared up at his roommate, who watched him in rapt attention and smiled contentedly at the satisfying tactile feeling shared between both their bodies. The former spirit felt rather than saw hungry lavender eyes wander over his pale, slim frame with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Barely giving time for the idea to register in their conjoined minds, Bakura smirked to himself as he grabbed Malik’s shoulders and flipped him over so that he lay on his stomach.

The Egyptian had lavished the former spirit’s body with such sublime worship and made him feel more amazing than he’d ever imagined possible – now, he wanted to do the same for the man hitching up into his body below.

Soothing any panic that arose within Malik’s – and thus Bakura’s – head, pale fingers lovingly traced down the cruel markings on the Egyptian’s back, starting at the tips of the wings and making their way to the center of the ankh. As if in one of their lessons, the former spirit positioned himself flat along Malik’s body, traced the hieratic and made up his own translations – half-speaking and half-kissing his way across the heaving muscles. Instead of the fate of the Pharaoh, the story now became that of a beautiful boy trapped by those who wanted to hide his light – until one day a handsome thief stole him away in the night so that he could shine brighter than ever at sunrise, allowing him and his captor the chance at freedom.

Malik’s body twitched in amusement at the language faux pas – and, even more so, in pleasure at the intimate attention being given to his most hated physical trait. The digits that stroked along his back and the lips that trailed across his imperfect skin didn’t cease for what felt like half an hour – until neither one could take the budding anticipation within their minds, and finally gave in to facing one another once more.

Even in the dark, it was obvious that their cheeks were blushing and that their eyes were half-lidded and that their breaths came out in fast-paced huffs. They fumbled for each other’s faces and licked their way into eager mouths – only breaking away when a jolt within their stomachs, as their cocks accidentally frotted together, made them silently gasp against bruised lips.

At the same time, their thoughts travelled to where a certain bottle might be within the bedroom – before Bakura felt a small piece of plastic placed into his open hand. As he unclasped the lube with shaky fingers and accidentally got some of the cool liquid on both their chests, they giggled in silence and used whatever free limbs they had to stroke hair, hips, legs, shoulders… by the time Bakura finally managed to get a decent amount of lube on his fingers, their thoughts couldn’t keep up with where and how they grabbed at whatever body part was in reach.

As he steadied himself on the blond’s smooth, muscular chest, the former spirit eased one finger slowly into himself – and near felt himself bucked off as Malik reacted to the sensation as if it was _his_ ass being penetrated. They shared a mutual smirk at the sudden, intense feeling, and Bakura dared to push in another finger. He near-clawed his hand against a shoulder below and threw his head back to silently moan at the ceiling. In the back of his mind, he felt Malik arch his own neck and blink in surprise at just how good the phantom digits in his body felt, so similar to their “mutual masturbation” earlier in the day.

Yet above all else – as the former spirit inserted a third, final finger and scissored himself open to draw forth waves of combined ecstasy – what they both thought was how if there was this much pleasure now… would they even be able to last once they got around to the best part?

Before he could have any doubts, Bakura pulled his digits out in one go – much to the Egyptian’s dismay. But his displeasure was soon replaced with absolute desire as the former spirit added another sloppy amount of lube to his palm and stroked it up and down Malik’s rock-hard – and impressively large – length. With one more swift lean-down to capture parted lips, their emotional connection centered into one tangible feeling of trust as both their hands grabbed hold of the tan cock and slowly eased it up into Bakura.

They alternated between soft, languid kisses and breaking away to savour the moment – eyes now accustomed to the dark so that they could stare at one another in wonder and amazement as they gradually grew closer and closer together. After a few adjustments – and silent words of encouragement against cheeks and foreheads – their bodies finally laid flush together.

Bakura’s mouth could barely close from how _Gods-damned good_ the cock inside him felt, and Malik could scarcely catch his breath with how – unlike the rest of his pale body – the inside of his roommate-turned-lover felt _so fucking hot._ As all their overwhelming thoughts merged into one, both men felt a flood of emotions swell within their chests and pour out into a shared silent moan – now more than ever, they wished to complete this nonstop cycle of pleasure by hearing how incredible they were making each other feel.

Their hands grasped for purchase upon each other as they failed to fight against the urge to move. Bakura rose up and down as Malik bucked further into the tight heat. Their rhythms were off for several minutes from both inexperience and a desire to make the moment last as long as possible – until a particular thrust made the former spirit almost draw blood with how roughly he grabbed the blond’s arm. Malik sensed what felt like a surge of lightning throughout his whole body at the same moment – and wasted little time in hitching up at the same angle to make Bakura react that way again.

Their tempos gradually increased as the selfish need to reach that white-hot bundle of nerves became too unbearable to ignore. Soon enough, Bakura rocked harder and harder against the Egyptian’s skin, riding the swelling cock inside him for all its worth. Half-coherent thoughts – about how good it all felt and how Malik fit in him perfectly and how he never wanted this feeling to stop and how he _needed_ the blond to fuck him deeper, faster, harder – were lost within his broken throat.

The shuffle of the silk sheets and the smack of their bodies as they connected more than once per second filled the room – but for both men, it was the heartfelt sentiments paving a bridge through their emotional link that consumed their senses like fire and left them internally begging for more.

They mouthed each other’s names and words of affection in-between prolonged, silent whimpers and screams. Bakura leaned down to rest his face against the tan chest below – feeling the heartbeat beneath pound in time to the cock pistoning into him. Sure that they wouldn’t be able to take much more, Malik dragged the former spirit’s face up to feel his breath wash across his warm cheeks – desperate to take after his lover and steal every sensation and every moment that he could to secure the memory in their minds forever like the thieves they both were.

One final thought from Bakura sent the Egyptian’s hand in-between their bodies to haphazardly stroke the leaking arousal that bounced against their stomachs with each thrust. Their mutual pleasure immediately increased tenfold to near-dizzying heights and – almost without warning – Bakura almost fainted on the spot as a warm splash of come landed against their skin and a torrent of thick heat filled him completely.

Both men trembled and twitched in the aftermath of what had turned out to be a much more intense experience than they’d envisioned. Mouths still open as they caught their breath – and limbs wrecked from the work-out that they’d inflicted on their bodies – Bakura pulled off with an awkward _pop_ and laid himself like a lump against the Egyptian’s stomach. With what little strength he had left, Malik rolled them over – not caring whether they made an absolute mess of themselves – and trailed a series of quick kisses up his roommate’s come-stained stomach to capture both the sticky mess and the other’s mouth with his swollen lips.

Their minds were near-blanks, and all they could fathom was how hot – literally and figuratively – what they’d just done was, and how much they’d wanted to show this side of themselves, and how much they wanted to do it again—

Without any time for more thoughts, Bakura watched as Malik grabbed the lube and – with a quirk of his eyebrows – unclasped the lid to see if they could replicate the fun once more… without a word needing to be shared between them to know what they most wanted.

* * *

The night gradually morphed into day. By the time sunlight crept into Malik’s bedroom and bathed them both with its iridescent beams, they’d gone at it several times – each one better than the last as they learned each curve of the other’s body and what made them close their eyes in rapture and how to draw out the most amount of pleasure.

Now, both men lay quietly on the oversized bed and stared up at the ceiling – not needing to look at each other to feel seen and appreciated and loved. Idle hands stroked opposite skin tones and familiar light hair. A swell of affection pooled within their chests, and silent breaths – heavy from hours of love-making, fucking and everything in-between – guided their hands up and down their completely exhausted bodies.

In that moment, neither Bakura nor Malik required the strange mind link they’d been granted days ago to understand the expressions they both wore. Granted, having a mental connection tied into their innermost thoughts definitely made _certain_ emotions easier to read than others – as the former spirit remembered the way his roommate squeezed his eyes shut and raked his fingers along pale arms and mouthed Bakura’s name like a silent chant during what must have been their third go that night.

But now, lying next to each other in the figurative and literal aftermath of their pleasure… they dared to genuinely smile and bask in the warmth and affection they’d denied – and been denied – for so long. Right now, everything was perfect.

Until three sharp _taps_ sounded off against the front door.

Any peace they’d had was immediately vanquished as horror entered their eyes. They both jumped from the bed to put on whatever clothes they could find – not caring if they’d be the same ones as yesterday. Eager to avoid Ryou’s delayed entrance into their apartment from the day before, Malik got dressed first and made his way to the door – before Bakura grabbed his hand with a slightly sheepish look on his face and pulled the blond in for one final kiss in front of the bathroom mirror.

As they nipped at lips and stroked along tongues, it suddenly dawned on both of them that they were nearing the end of their mental connection. But they refused to allow any sadness to cross their faces as they drew away, finished dressing and opened the door together.

“Sorry I’m a bit earlier than usual, but I figured you both would want to be put out of your misery sooner rather than later.” Ryou entered with the scroll and a small box of herbs and scented oils in his hands. He gestured at both men to sit next to each other on the couch. “This’ll only take a moment to set up. You’ll be back to your whinging in no time.”

Bakura and Malik looked to one another with their usual outwardly sardonic expressions – while sensing within each other that what was about to happen was both bittersweet and slightly upsetting and—

“Oh, you’re already holding hands? Well, that’s one thing off the list. I was worried you two might make a fuss when we got to that bit.”

Both men reddened at the subconscious gesture, but only twined their fingers together tighter.

Meanwhile, Ryou set about arranging what looked – and smelled – like coriander, thyme and myrrh along the space in front of their feet. Then he reached up to drag a thick paste of some unknown origin across their collarbones. As Ryou graced the edges of their clothes, a raised eyebrow asked the quiet question of whether they’d changed at all since the day before. But it thankfully went unanswered as more herbs were tucked behind their – very bruised and love-bitten – ears.

In as confident a voice as he could, Ryou drew back, closed his eyes and began to chant one phrase in hieratic over and over again, growing in volume with each repetition. Holding back slight laughter at the absurdity of the situation, Bakura and Malik turned to each other at the same time and took in the sight of the other covered in what looked like weeds and swamp water. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Ryou had made all this up just to fuck with them, they both thought at the same time—

Until they didn’t.

As if all the air had been sucked out of the room, both men coughed and gasped audibly as the strange liquid soaked into their skin and the green in their hair withered and fell against the now-dead herbs at their feet.

“There. That should do it.” Ryou smiled triumphant above them and gestured for both men to speak. For their part, Bakura and Malik could only continue to catch what felt like a hundred breaths and stare at one another at the sudden loss of connection – like they had shared one body for so long and had been brusquely split in two. The man before them broke their reverie as he knelt down in a slight panic. “I spent hours poring over the Museum texts and cross-checking with KaibaCorp’s databases. Don’t tell me it didn’t—”

“It worked.” Malik was the first to croak out words – as if the effort of speaking was foreign and too difficult. “It worked, Ryou. Don’t worry.”

Bakura couldn’t help but notice the slight hint of an accent as he spoke in Japanese. Had that always been there when they’d bickered and schemed before? Gods, it sounded hot – would probably sound even hotter in bed, if the previous night was anything to go by…

But unlike the last several days, Malik didn’t turn to face his roommate at the sensual thought. Instead, he merely brushed at his body to clear away the remnants of the offending plants.

Despite the assurances, Ryou held a look of worry as he stepped toward his former tenant.

“Bakura? Are you—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He very clearly wasn’t, but Bakura was thankful that he could at least blame his newfound vocal cords if Ryou questioned why he sounded so resigned. “You did good. Well done, _landlord._ ”

The jab was meant to hide his true feelings – and for a brief second, it did. Ryou rolled his eyes and made some comment about hating the nickname, especially when it didn’t even make sense to use it now.

As Ryou gently swiped at Bakura’s face and the former spirit groaned in embarrassment, Malik watched his roommate’s face closely – looking for any signs as to what was going through that enigmatic, brilliant mind that he might be able to read. And to the Egyptian’s surprise… he _could._

The furrowing of Bakura’s brow, the slight downturn of his lips, the ways his fingers would push aside his long hair, the nervous tic of rubbing his hand against his upper left arm where some wounds had never fully healed… without words, Malik very quickly discerned that the former spirit needed space _now._

And he knew just the way to get what he – _they_ – wanted.

“Well, now that we’re back to normal, guess who gets to help me unpack all of these scrolls?”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“The only ‘kid’ I see here is _you,_ Bakura. You got us into this mess, you get to reap the consequences.”

A flash went across Bakura’s face – and at once he understood what Malik was trying to do. With a smirk, he played along.

“Seriously? ‘Mr. Blond Bimbo’ too good to get his hands dirty again? Ironic, considering I didn’t complain _once_ about your lack of hygiene this week.”

“You know what? I think I liked you better when you couldn’t talk.”

“Oh, come on, you love me.”

Up until now, Ryou had just listened in bemusement at the familiar spectacle. But Bakura’s last words made him pause – and, as he approached the door to exit with an armful of boxes and bowls, he turned to look back and forth between both men.

“ _It._ You love _it,_ is what I—”

“Bakura.” A look of understanding passed over Ryou’s face, and he sighed as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “Just because you have your voice back doesn't mean you have to stick your foot in it immediately.”

The two roommates were frozen to their spots, so Ryou helped himself out – but he popped his head back in one final time with a teasing tone of voice.

“I can’t believe you two ever fooled Yugi and the others all those years ago, you’re such bad actors. And just so you both know, you don’t have to go to such extremes the _next_ time you two want to fu—”

Ryou’s speech was cut short as Bakura rushed forward to – albeit carefully – slam the door shut. He rested his head against the wood as he heard his former host’s soft snickering on the other side gradually fade away.

“Malik, I—”

Now Bakura was the one who was cut short – but not by a kiss or a frantic plea for release. This time, the blond simply wrapped tan arms around his roommate’s slender frame from behind.

“Don’t speak, Bakura. _Please._ ” The last word was near-whispered against Bakura’s ear as Malik buried his head against the pale neck.

As if in silent agreement, they moved to the closest room with a bed – in this case, Bakura’s room. They embraced when their bodies hit the hard mattress – uneager to disrobe or kiss or make a move beyond a return to their earlier caresses and pure enjoyment of the other's company.

It felt strange to have their voices back – even stranger that now they couldn’t think of anything to say. Their emotional connection severed, both men breathed deep at the loss – so they laid their foreheads together and trailed purposeful fingers along skin to convey the hundreds of thousands of words that didn’t need to be said aloud. There would be plenty of time to explore their relationship – explore all the joy, pain and memories that _they_ could create as one – and to see whether they were made for more than bitter arguments and unsubtle innuendos.

But for now, they just basked in the warm presence of one another, relishing in the rare peace and all that it encompassed… a tacit promise that they would never face such silence alone ever again.


End file.
